I. 1. Retired, remote from human noise, An humble Poet dwelt serene; His lot was lowly, yet his joys Were manifold, I ween.

Yet once again, my Harp, yet once… One ditty more, and on the mountai… I will again suspend thee. I have… The warm tear frequent on my cheek… At eventide, when all the winds we…

Oh, Warton! to thy soothing shell… Stretch’d remote in hermit cell, Where the brook runs babbling by, For ever I could listening lie; And catching all the muses’ fire,

Gently, most gently on thy victim’… Consumption, lay thine hand! Let… Like the expiring lamp, unseen, aw… And softly go to slumber with the… And if it is true what holy men ha…

Let the sublimer Muse, who wrapt… Rides on the raven pennons of the… Or o’er the field with purple havo… Lashes her steeds and sings along… Let her, whom more ferocious strai…

Lo! o’er the welkin the tempestuou… Successive fly, and the loud-pipin… Rocks the poor sea-boy on the drip… While the pale pilot, o’er the hel… Lists to the changeful storm: and…

Oh! who would cherish life, And cling unto this heavy clog of… Love this rude world of strife, Where glooms and tempests cloud th… And where, 'neath outward smiles,

Sweet to the gay of heart is Summ… Sweet the wild music of the laughi… But ah! my soul far other scenes b… Where gloomy storms their sullen s… Is it for me to strike the Idalia…

When the winter wind whistles alon… And the cottager shuts on the begg… When the chilling tear stands in m… Oh, how hard is the lot of the Wa… The winter is cold, and I have no…

Hence, away, vindictive thought; Thy pictures are of pain; The visions through thy dark eye c… They with no gentle charms are fra… So pr’y thee back again.

Reader! if with no vulgar sympathy Thou view’st the wreck of genius a… Stay thou thy footsteps near this… Here Cowper rests. Although renow… His name familiar to thine ear, th…

And canst thou, Mother, for a mom… That we, thy children, when old ag… Its blanching honours on thy weary… Could from our best of duties ever… Sooner the sun from his high spher…

Down the sultry arc of day The burning wheels have urged thei… And eve along the western skies Sheds her intermingling dyes. Down the deep, the miry lane,

Oh! yonder is the well known spot, My dear, my long lost native home! Oh, welcome is yon little cot, Where I shall rest, no more to ro… Oh! I have travell’d far and wide…

Ye unseen spirits, whose wild melo… At evening rising slow, yet sweetl… Steal on the musing poet’s pensive… As by the wood-spring stretch’d su… When he, who now invokes you, low…